


Storm Fronts

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [521]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-25 23:54:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: navigatorsnorth askedA big enough electrical storm will interfere with even the most advanced communications systems





	Storm Fronts

The thunderheads built up quickly, visibly piling higher with every passing second.  “We’ve flown through worse,” Gordon says, leaning forward in the jump seat to peer up into the sky.

“We really haven’t,” Virgil said, tightening his grip on the yoke, too nervous to be reassuring.

Gordon sighed out heavily, like Virgil was just saying what they were all thinking.  “You could try to be a  _little_ more upbeat there.”  He sat back heavily.  “But we are here-” he jabbed a finger towards the deck.  “And our rescue is there-” the finger pointed like an accusation out the window.  “Solutions.”

Virgil eyed the weather radar, the doppler and the infrared.  He glanced at the brief John had prepared, key stats about the ship in distress in the storm of a century.  Finally he looked over at Gordon, and nodded at what he saw.  “Fastest way out, is through?” he said, the slightest lift at the end of the sentence turning it into a question.

Gordon nodded and pulled his harness on, securing himself firmly to his seat.  “Hit it.”

Crossing the front was like diving into a washing machine full of grey cotton running at extreme.  Virgil cursed as the yoke was almost ripped from his hands, his stomach lurching as Two dove and lifted, fighting for level against the force of nature.

“Where’d it go?”  Gordon snarled, thumping his console as his display flickered in and out.  “Five, we’re getting a lot of interference.”

There was only static.

“Five, come in?”

Virgil grit his teeth, checking his magnetic compass, the mechanical systems that calculated altitude by air pressure and speed.  This was old school storm flying.  “Gordon, get the infrared scopes.  Maybe we can pick it out by the engine heat?”

It was slow, tedious, terrifying work, banking around the storm, narrowing in on a tiny blip of life that was hidden and revealed by the swirling of the storm.  “There!”  Gordon’s harness was the only thing that kept him in his chair.  He hissed in frustration for the two seconds it took to shuck it off, diving and almost climbing up the cockpit towards the bay doors.  He didn’t bother with the elevator, but went instead to the rarely used ladder set in a tube hatch right at the back.

There was no way they could launch Two.  But the ship was small, and if Virgil could just hold her steady, they could use the chair lift.  “We’re – maniacs,” Gordon’s voice crackled in the comms, already breaking up despite the fact he was still in the hold.

Virgil didn’t bother replying, concentrating on willing his Bird steady, just long enough to get the crew loaded into his belly.  It was instinctual flying, the instruments mostly ignored now as Virgil flew by feel, trying to gauge by the tiniest tell whether the wind would shove them down or up or side to side.  He thought he could feel the rumble of the winches as they wound down and paused for an agonising eon before finally they began the return.

“—GO!”  Gordon’s voice was twisted, almost torqued by the storm, but one word was clear.  Virgil tipped up the nose, trusting his inner ear as much as his instruments, and punched the engines.

Two crested into clear blue skies, clouds stripping away with the speed.  “–OME IN TWO…oh Virgil, please….” 

Virgil had never heard John so breathless.  Glancing at his systems newly burst into life, Virgil flipped the comms.  “Thunderbird Two.  Mission complete.”

He was grinning as he flinched away from the stream of overlapping words filling his comms.  Nodding once to Gordon as he retook his seat, Virgil turned his Bird for home.


End file.
